Anastasia
by Princess Persephone
Summary: [Anastasia] A few scenes near the end of the movie rewritten by yours truly.
1. Chapter One

Author's Note: This is just a few ending scenes from the movie Anastasia, rewritten by me. I used the script from the movie version (1997), and the 1995 version too. I love this movie, but I personally think that Rasputin, the 'bad guy' could have been left out of the movie entirely and it would have been just fine.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia or any other characters in this movie.  
  
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Dimitri stood nervously in the study, awaiting the Dowager Empress Marie. The thick oak desk and dark book shelves were imposing in their clean, dustless, way. Velvet emerald curtains were pulled back from the large glass windows, revealing a street of Paris. People were coming and going, and the occasional French phrase drifted up to where Dimitri stood. He tossed his hair out of his dark eyes and stuffed his hands deep in his pockets, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.  
  
Why had he come here, to this large, grand house? Dimitri knew exactly what the Dowager Empress had called him for. And he knew what his response would be . . . Perhaps, though he knew it was futile, he'd come just to have one last look at Anya-er, Anastasia. Dimitri swallowed and took a shuddering breath. Anya . . . the stubborn, tomboyish, quick-witted, beautiful woman he had fallen for, and fallen for hard. The only catch was that she was the long last heir to the Russian throne, Anastasia Romanov, and he, Dimitri, was a worthless peasant who had lost her trust by using her in a con. A con which he wasn't even intending in going through with anymore-and it wasn't really a con, because Anya had actually turned out to be the Princess Anastasia. As he'd said before to Vladimir, a former aristocrat from the Russian court who had helped him in the 'con,' princesses never married worthless kitchen boys. No, he'd promised the Dowager Empress that if she saw Anya, he would stay out of both of their lives forever. There was no use harboring these romantic thoughts about Her Serene Majesty, Princess Anastasia. He'd leave her to be happy with her grandmother and new-found title and long-lost home while he didn't accept the reward money and lost any chance of romance that he might have had with her.  
  
The richly carved doors leading to the study opened suddenly, and there stood the Dowager Empress herself. She looked years younger than when Dimitri had seen her last night. It seemed that the finding of her precious granddaughter had sprung a great change through her. The doors closed behind her and she brought out a large valise, which she set on her desk and commenced opening.  
  
"You sent for me, Your Grace?" Dimitri asked stiffly, staring at the wall. He couldn't bring himself to look at her, least he break down and she see the emotions barely hidden in his face.  
  
"Yes," she replied, straightening up and casting her critical eye over him. Dimitri winced. He was wearing his best suit next to the one he had worn last night at the opera, but he knew this one was not even worth comparing to the other. He could feel the rough seams and the hole in the left jacket pocket burning against him. Dimitri's face grew warm.  
  
"I owe you a debt larger than I could ever repay," Empress Marie said. "I want you to have the reward money: ten million rubles, as promised . . . and the very deep, heartfelt gratitude of an old woman." She clicked open the valise and Dimitri saw that it was full of money.  
  
He nodded in response. "I accept your gratitude, Your Highness. But I . . ." Dimitri cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at his shoes, "I don't want the money. I-I just came to tell you that I'm sorry for any distress I may have caused last night. I hope you know it was necessary . . ." he trailed off, not knowing what else to say. It was much easier than he had thought, to refuse the reward money.  
  
The Empress looked at him thoughtfully, grimacing more than smiling. "What do you want, then?" she asked softly.  
  
Taken aback, Dimitri had no idea what to say. This was not at all the reaction he had thought she would have. Shaking his head sadly, Dimitri replied, with a painfully yearning, far off look in his eyes, "Unfortunately, nothing you can give." He bowed respectfully and started off to the door, still tense.  
  
"Young man," Empress Marie called after him, stopping Dimitri in his tracks. She paused for a moment, wondering whether she should ask him this next question that had been on her mind for some time. "Where did you ever get that music box?"  
  
Dimitri had told her last night that he had worked in the palace as a boy, and she had laughed at him. Not knowing what to say, Dimitri stayed silent, still facing toward the door, longing to just go. He tossed his head to rid his face of the hair hanging in his eyes.  
  
A look of recognition crossed her face and the Empress crossed the room to stand in front of him. "You were that boy . . ." she said, wonderingly.  
  
"I should go-" Dimitri looked wildly at the door, but did not move.  
  
For years Marie had wondered who that little kitchen boy had been, who had gotten them out of the winter palace through the servants' quarters, and here he was, full grown and not accepting a reward of ten million rubles for his trouble. He had risked his own life to save them years ago. He knew who they were, of course, but many other servants had too, and yet they had joined in with the riots, forgetting the kindness that Czar Nicholas had shown them; not thinking of their former master's family-his innocent children!-how they would have to bare this burden; would have to escape . . .  
  
Marie circled Dimitri, thinking. "You were that boy, weren't you?" she asked. "The servant boy who got us out." She received no response from him. Why does he not want to be recognized? she wondered. "You saved her life, and mine. Then you restored her to me . . . and yet you want no reward?" Marie shook her head, unbelieving.  
  
"Not anymore," he answered, voice seemingly strong, but Marie caught a slight tremble in it. A small hesitation, but it was there all the same. He raised his head suddenly. "Promise me she'll have a home." Dimitri remembered Anya's obsession over homes . . . how badly she'd wanted one.  
  
"She does," the empress replied. What a strange thing to promise.  
  
Dimitri struggled to keep his voice level. "And tell me she's happy." Oh, God, he had sounded like he was pleading with the Empress-but he was. He wanted Anya to be happy, he wanted it more than anything in the world . . . except perhaps, one other thing . . .  
  
The Dowager Empress frowned. Happy? Was her Anastasia happy? She seemed so. Marie knew her granddaughter was happy to have found her; was happy to find what she'd been looking for since she was eight . . . but was it enough? Would she stay happy? Anastasia loved to talk about her family, and how life used to be; but she had seemed so glum when they had fitted her for her coronation gown. She was even having a hard time responding to the name Anastasia rather than that dreadfully common name she had come to Paris with: Anya. Empress Marie didn't know if she could honestly say that Anastasia was happy.  
  
Not knowing what else to say, the Empress asked, changing the subject, "You say you used to want the reward? Why the change of mind?"  
  
For the first time since she had entered the study, Dimitri looked her straight in the eye, not caring if the Dowager Empress sensed his nearly overwhelming emotions. "It was more of a change of heart." Empress Marie raised her eyebrows, but did not open her mouth. Dimitri averted his eyes again. "I must go." He bowed her, uncomfortable with what he had just said. "Your Grace."  
  
Striding towards the door, Dimitri sighed, relieved the meeting was finally over. As he passed the Dowager Empress, he caught the unmistakable scent of peppermint . . . but he dismissed it from his mind and strode out the door, hoping the Dowager hadn't picked up on his last comment about his heart.  
  
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Please r/r! Thanks! This is my first Anastasia fic, so be nice, please! 


	2. Chapter Two

Author's Note: This is just a few ending scenes from the movie Anastasia, rewritten by me. I used the script from the movie version (1997), and the 1995 version too. I love this movie, but I personally think that Rasputin, the 'bad guy' could have been left out of the movie entirely and it would have been just fine.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Anastasia or any other characters in this movie.  
  
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The hallway did nothing to ease Dimitri's mind as he searched for the grand staircase. It was filled with pictures of a young, smiling, childish Anastasia; of a happier time in Russia. Her wide eyes stared at him from the black and white photos, large and innocent. The pictures reminded Dimitri of that fateful winter ball the Romanovs had had the year Rasputin had shown his true colours. He remembered how Anastasia had been dancing with her father, Nicholas, the Czar of Imperial Russia, and how both she and her grandmother hadn't noticed when he had been pulled out of the hall by one of the servants and roughly thrown towards the kitchen. Dimitri shook his head to clear his mind of these thoughts. It was no use to remember them. He was glad he was out of the kitchen, even if he wasn't out on the dance floor with Anya.  
  
There, at the end of the hall, was a slightly larger picture, a rough sketch, hand drawn. Anya was dressed in a regal gown, bringing out her blue eyes and setting off her wavy auburn hair. Her smile was bright with laughter, and she seemed to be looking at him warmly through the paper. She looked glorious, every inch of her the Princess Anastasia. Dimitri looked away before he did something drastic and turned the corner rather swiftly, resuming his search for the stairs.  
  
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Anya trudged up the stairs in her new coronation ball gown. She knew princesses weren't supposed to trudge, and she couldn't ignore the disapproving look the guard at the bottom of the stairs had given her, but she could care less. The ball was in a few short hours, and ever since dawn's first light she had been prodded and measured and squeezed and fitted and directed until she thought she would go insane. Vlad and Dimitri had been easy compared with Grandmama. Sure Vlad had tested her nearly every five minutes and had seen to it that she memorized the entire Romanov family tree, but learning the names and family history of the entire Russian court would have been easier than standing on a stool, unmoving, barely breathing, for three hours. Not to mention being spoken to in French, a language she didn't even understand one word of, or Russian so heavily accented that she could barely understand it. While Vlad and Dimitri had tried to teach her high class table manners, it had been a lot easier learning with them, where you could laugh if you did something wrong, than with twenty servants and tutors and tailors and painters and guards and Grandmama breathing down your neck and correcting every wobble of a plate, every un-extended pinky, and every slurped spoonful, with pursed lips, furrowed foreheads, and grim expressions. And during every boring lecture with Vlad there had at least been Dimitri there to joke and bicker with . . . Dimitri . . .  
  
Just the thought of that man could make her want to scream-but princesses don't scream. They never scream. They are always cool and collected. Anya ground her teeth together and climbed the next step. Dimitri. He had been using her in his con to get the Dowager Empress Marie's-Grandmama's-money. He had taught her how to be regal and act regal and look regal and sound regal. He had used her from the very beginning, never mentioning that odious reward. She had actually believed that he thought she was Anastasia, and all that time he had been lying . . . But could he really have been all that bad? They had been through so much together. Could he actually turn away from all that-from her-just for ten million rubles? Anya had thought there was something between the two of them. Sure they had fought often at the beginning of the journey, but by the end . . . by the end they had been waltzing and holding hands and sharing secret smiles and soft looks . . . Anya had thought she had fallen in love with him, but it had probably been part of his ploy from the very beginning. Oh, Dimitri! she thought, desperately.  
  
As if he had heard her, Dimitri suddenly appeared at the top of the grand staircase and started walking down. He looked well, in a nice, if somewhat worn-looking suit. A few dark curls spilled over his forehead into his eyes. Anya couldn't breathe. What was he doing here? Oh, she thought, with a sinking heart, he probably just came for the reward money.  
  
Dimitri tossed his head to rid his face of the curls dangling in his eyes, thinking he'd get a haircut as soon as he left the building, when he caught sight of Anya. He had to stop walking in order to not fall down the stairs in shock. Oh, God, he thought. Sure he had fantasized about seeing her one last time, before he left for St. Petersburg, but he hadn't really thought about it actually happening in reality. Anya was standing in front of him, staring wide-eyed at his face. She was dressed up in a beautiful gown, gold and pink and blue, full-skirted and perfectly elegant. Her hair was up from her face and her brilliant silver crown caught the light from the chandeliers, nearly blinding him. Dimitri's hands lay slack at his sides.  
  
She didn't know how long they stood like this, staring at one another. Anya had to fight her first impulse much more than she thought she would have to-which was throwing herself in his arms and telling him how much she loved him. Of course, if she did that he'd probably give her a strange look and run out the door and the guard at the bottom of the stairs would lock her up in an asylum and Grandmama would think she was crazy.  
  
Drawing herself up to her full regal height, and putting on a very false show of confidence, Anya greeted him rather coldly. "Hello, Dimitri."  
  
"Hello," he answered, his eyes fixed on her face. She couldn't read his expression at all. He had a very thick mask on, hiding his emotions.  
  
They paused for a moment, both not knowing what to say; a rather awkward silence settling in. Then,  
  
"Did you collect your reward?" Anya asked, raising her chin.  
  
How was he to answer this one? He couldn't tell her right out that he hadn't taken the money; she would want to know why. If he knew Anya, she wouldn't stop badgering him with stubborn questions until he told her. And he couldn't tell her why. He had made a promise to stay out of her life forever and if he admitted his feelings for her . . .  
  
"My . . ." Dimitri cleared his throat, searching. "My . . . business is complete . . ."  
  
Their struggling conversation that was floundering about in tension, unasked questions, and unrevealed feelings was interrupted. "Young man," the guard from the bottom of the stairs called up to Dimitri, "you will bow, and address the Princess as 'Your Highness.'"  
  
Anya tried not to wince. That was the last thing she wanted. Dimitri might be her subject, but he was still Dimitri . . . the man that she-  
  
Uncomfortably, she told the guard, "No, that's not necess-"  
  
Dimitri raised his hand to stop her mid-word. He didn't want to, but if he was giving up the reward money and his love for her, he'd better get used to it. "Please, Your Highness," he said, bowing. "I'm glad you found what you were looking for."  
  
Anya tried very hard not to grimace when he bowed. Oh, she didn't want him to have to bow to her! Not Dimitri . . . Had she found what she was looking for? Of course she had! She had found Grandmama; this was where she belonged. She had found her home . . . Somewhat coldly, she replied, "Yes. I'm glad you did too."  
  
Struggling not to let out a bitter snort, Dimitri nodded. He hadn't found what he was looking for . . . or rather, he had found it, and then lost it. "Well, then . . ." Dimitri shrugged and walked past Anya down the stairs.  
  
She couldn't help it. If that was all he was going to say . . . ! "Enjoy your fortune!" she harshly called after him.  
  
Dimitri stopped, and spun around. Oh, how he'd like to tell her! It was eating him up from the inside. His 'fortune,' indeed! Restraining himself, he said, "Goodbye . . . Your Highness." He bowed again and quickly strode out the door before he could correct himself and call her Anya. He wished she would sprint down the stairs after him in pursuit, but all he heard was the door banging shut behind him.  
  
Swallowing a lump in her throat, Anya stared after Dimitri's retreating figure, knowing she'd never see him again. Softly, to herself, she whispered, struggling not to cry, "Goodbye . . ." 


	3. Chapter Three

Hello! Thanks for the reviews (the ones I got, at least . . . ) Thanks for taking the time, it's really appreciated.  
  
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The music in the elegantly ornate ball room rose to a climax and the couples dancing swirled to a dramatic stop. As the guests got ready for the next dance, whispers flowed throughout the room about the missing Princess Anastasia's return. The glittering jewels, intricate hair styles, and silk gloves decorating the women matched their bright, colourful dresses, and Anya could only stare. The men were all wearing suits, as splendid as the ones they had worn at the Russian ballet last night. Anya had seen many people dressed up earlier, but that hardly compared with tonight. Last night she had been too anxious about her meeting with the Dowager Empress to pay attention to the splendor that surrounded her, but now . . . now it was like a blow to the face, so unexpected was it.  
  
Behind the curtain at the front of the room, where the grand, coronation chair stood, Anya paced to and fro. Perched on her head, atop her skillfully worked hair, her crown sat, glimmering like a drop of dew. Her coronation gown clung to her slender body; the richly embroidered skirts trailing gracefully behind her. But there was nothing graceful about the way she felt. Anya's stomach was flipping around like a wheel on a train, and when she reached up to fiddle with her necklace, the one she had worn for years, she realized that it wasn't there; it was in her room with the music box.  
  
The music box. That little present Grandmama had given her had been lost, just like she, Anastasia had been lost; but it had been found, and it had reunited Anya with her grandmother and reminded her of her real life: the life of a princess.  
  
But the life Anya was about to enter was the last thing on her mind as she, finally overcome by curiosity, pulled back the curtain and peeked through to the other side. The side filled with titled ladies and wealthy gentlemen, golden pocket watches and impressive pedigrees. Her eyes searched in vain, hoping to see his familiar walk; the cocky flip of hair out of his eyes; the somewhat awkward way he stood when around people of high breeding that he didn't know. Anya thought back to their last conversation and winced. Dimitri had taken the reward and left, just like that. He'd said goodbye, she supposed, but it hadn't happened like she thought it would. In her mind she had seen herself regally turning her head away as he walked past, and him going after her, insisting that she listen to what he had to say; that he hadn't taken the money and that he wanted to- - to what? she wondered. Anya didn't know. The fantasy ended there. She couldn't really say what he would do or what he wanted. And since he had taken the reward money, it was a bit pointless to imagine that he hadn't. Why else would he have been at the house?  
  
Still, Anya couldn't let go of the one last hope that he had come, even to just see her.  
  
Marie watched her granddaughter peer though the curtains toward the dancing couples. Sighing rather heavily, she shook her head. Earlier in her office, Dimitri had tried not to show anything of what he felt, but Marie could tell that he was in love with her granddaughter. The way he hadn't met her eye, not accepting the reward money, wanting Anastasia to be happy, and that change of heart statement . . . Had he really thought she wouldn't see into it? Or perhaps he had meant for her to know. Perhaps he thought she might do something that would make Anastasia see . . .  
  
Walking up to Anya, the Empress said, sounding very nonchalant indeed after years of practice, "He's not there." She wondered if her granddaughter would respond the way she thought she would.  
  
Anya sighed dejectedly. She didn't need to be told what she already knew. It had just been a silly, girlish hope anyway. She hadn't seriously thought Dimitri would show up; and yet she couldn't honestly say that her heart didn't pang a little more at the thought of it being true.  
  
"Oh," Anya said, trying to convince herself, "I-- I know he's not. He's . . ." She blinked. How had Grandmama known she'd been looking for Dimitri? She hadn't been whispering his name out loud, had she? If she had she'd never hear the end of it. Trying to cover up her blunder, and failing rather horribly, Anya cocked her head to one side and asked innocently, "Who's not there, Grandmama?"  
  
The Empress had to fight back a smile and looked out at the group assembled for the coronation ceremony. She had been right. Anastasia had been thinking of him; perhaps hoping --even if she had known all along that he wasn't there-- hoping all the same that he would come.  
  
Pretending not to notice her granddaughter's sudden uneasiness and fake innocence, Marie replied, "A remarkable young man, who found a music box . . ."  
  
Anya knew when she was beat. "No, he's probably too busy spending his reward money as fast as he can," she said, her heart sinking even more as she uttered the words in a bitter tone. All this was doing was reminding her that Dimitri has tried to use her in a scam to get a lonely old woman's money.  
  
Feeling the unwillingness to talk about such things, Marie thought it wise to change the subject. She gestured to the crowd beyond the curtain. "Look at them dance!" she said, remembering a time when she would have joined in with them. Marie turned to Anastasia, not wanting to give up her granddaughter who was more precious to her than anything, yet knowing if she didn't speak now, Anastasia could never be truly happy. "You were born into this world of glittering jewels and fine titles, but I wonder if this is what you really want."  
  
The curtain fell back into place as Anya dropped it out of shock. Not knowing what Grandmama was talking about at all, she looked at her in confusion. Of course this was what she wanted! She had found her home; the thing she had been looking for all her life. Why wouldn't she really want this? All the rules and proper stuff may not be the best, but Anya was ready to give up almost anything to keep her new-found home. "Of course, of course it is. I found what I was looking for. I found my home. I found you."  
  
Marie nodded, understandingly. Her Anastasia was still so young, so innocent, so confused. She didn't know what she wanted. "Yes, you did find me," the Empress said, "and you'll always have me. But is it enough?" She looked at her Anastasia for a moment. "Your home is in your heart; in the future that you make for yourself. Do you understand the choice you must make?"  
  
Anya looked at her, bewildered, again. What choice? What was Grandmama talking about? Choosing between her and Dimitri? There wasn't even any comparison between the two. Anya would never go to Dimitri, no matter how much she felt. He had used her to help himself, and that was unforgivable. She shook her head. "This is my future. This is who I am. There's no choice- -"  
  
Holding up a hand, Marie stopped her from going on. "This is who you were. Exactly who you are is up to you."  
  
"I don't know who I am! I still don't know!" Anya bust out. After she said it, she realised it was true-- it had to be true. She didn't know, even though she had found her family, her grandmother. She knew that she was Princess Anastasia, yes, but . . .  
  
"Yes, you do," Marie insisted. Deep down, she felt certain Anastasia knew who she was. She just needed to be reminded.  
  
"I've spent my whole life waiting to find you--"  
  
"And we have found each other; nothing will ever change that." Marie shook her head, and gathered Anya up in her arms. "I'm your family, but I may not be your home," she whispered into Anya's hair. Backing away, Marie knew she had to tell Anastasia the truth about Dimitri. Not knowing what he had done was blinding her granddaughter from knowing her true self, what she really wanted. Now that she really thought about it, Marie knew that what Dimitri had done, not accepting the reward, it had all been done because he loved Anastasia and he had returned her to her family because it had been what she wanted. And he had wanted her to be happy. The Dowager Empress Marie looked at Anya with tears in her eyes.  
  
"My darling," she said, grasping Anya's hands in her own. "He didn't take the money."  
  
Anya's mouth dropped. No, no, Grandmama must be mistaken! There was no way . . . Last night at the ballet she had learned that he had been using her to get the money all along. So why would he change his mind about what he had been after the whole time, when she had already been accepted by the Dowager Empress as Anastasia? No, Anya had seen for herself-- she had seen him at the house today, and he hadn't denied anything about taking the money. She had told him she was glad he had found what he was looking for, and she hadn't meant it at all! She had thought he had gotten his money, and she had just been trying to make him feel the least bit shameful about the way he had used her, and he hadn't retaliated at all except to say that he was glad for her too. And now Grandmama was saying that what she had, what she had found, wasn't what she had been looking for all along! How confusing this all was! But if Dimitri hadn't taken the money, why had he led her to believe that he had? So she would hate him for using her? Why would he want her to hate him? Anya had thought that they had been getting on quite well --they had become good friends, perhaps a bit more than friends-- so why would he want her to hate him? And oh! She had told him she hoped he enjoyed his fortune, and he hadn't even opened his mouth except to wish her goodbye. Why? Why had he lied about taking the money?  
  
Anya's breath caught in her chest. If he hadn't taken the money . . . That meant he hadn't used her. The only thing he had done was reunite her with her grandmother. Dimitri had smuggled her out of Russia, paid for her steamship ticket, bought her a dress, taught her all about the Romanovs, and snuck his way into her heart. And he hadn't taken the reward money of ten million rubles. It was pretty . . . sweet.  
  
"He . . . didn't?" she asked, still dazed by her discovery.  
  
Marie smiled at her. "He just wanted to make sure you were happy," she said.  
  
Dimitri wanted her to be happy . . . was that why he had let her believe he had taken the money? But how could he think she'd be happy if she thought he had used her? Suddenly Anya knew what Grandmama had been talking about when she said that being a princess wasn't what she wanted.  
  
"Knowing that you are alive, seeing the woman you have become, brings me joy I never thought I could feel again." Marie embraced Anya again, then, gently pulling away, she drew back the curtain and looked out at the crowd. Now Anastasia knew; and she would choose. She would choose what she wanted, what she had been meant to do. Having been reunited with her granddaughter, even if it had been for just this short time, Marie felt like it was enough. She could rest peacefully now, knowing what had happened to her favourite granddaughter, knowing she was safe and happy.  
  
Marie turned to Anya again. "Whatever you chose, we will always have each other."  
  
Somewhat still uncertain, Anya hesitated a moment too long. "Grandmama, can't you tell me--" But she was gone; Marie had slipped through the curtains.  
  
Anya frowned. She knew that Dimitri hadn't taken the reward money; he hadn't taken if for her. And Grandmama seemed to think that she should go find him and abandon this new life she had found. Anya took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and was about to pass through the pulled back curtain, when she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. She stopped cold, staring at herself. What she saw was a beautiful, regal, prim and proper young lady; elegant coronation gown, sparkling crown; the Princess Anastasia. Princess Anastasia maybe, but not who she was; not Anya. Suddenly the crown seemed a bit too heavy, a bit not right for her.  
  
Anya looked away, still uncertain with what she should do. Should she go after Dimitri, wherever he had disappeared to, as Grandmama seemed to think she should? Or should she stay in this new, strange life filled with embroidered handkerchiefs, flashing jewels, regal titles, and curiously suggestive French phrases? When she had first gotten to Paris she had felt, even though born into the system, that this new life would never fit her quite right. It wasn't who she was. Suddenly realising this, Anya let the curtain drop again and stood still. She would go after Dimitri, wherever he was. She would find him. He had to know how she felt. He must have sensed it, all those times when their hands had brushed and the curious tingles had traveled down her spine. Or when they had been getting out of Russia on the train and Dimitri had been trying to get the baggage car to stop and he had slipped and she had grabbed his hand and their faces had been so close together. Or when they had learned to waltz together on the deck of the ship crossing over from Germany and suddenly there had been that pause and everything else on the deck seemed to disappear and it had been just the two of them, and all of her attention had suddenly been focused on his lips and she couldn't seem to draw her gaze away from them. He must have felt the same-- he had been there too, after all.  
  
Anya was suddenly shaken out of her reverie by someone calling her name.  
  
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And you'll have to wait for the next chapter! Lol. Oh, and sorry about the French phrase thing; I just couldn't help myself. I watched Anatomy of a Murder with Jimmy Stewart last night, and this judge said something about how most French words were suggestive. No offense meant to any French people; I just thought it was kind of funny.  
  
Please read and review! 


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